Ripley: Here's the Plan
It had been easy to like Mishka while he was possessed. He had been helpless. He had been falling apart. Joan thought they were both fucking dead. She'd desperately tried to keep him whole, to keep him sane. She was preparing to meet her god. She'd never imagined getting free. He’d been funny and charming. He’d told her stories to distract her. They’d played bullshit games. He’d told her in detail everything he’d seen Diva do with his body so that, on the off chance one of them got out, they could use the information. She’d fucking mourned him. Now they were both out, and he was alien to her again. When they got off the ship at Haeth’s estate, Ripley’s entire body still felt weak from being dead. Haeth went first down the gangplank, then stepped aside and let the others pass him. He watched her with a liquid look in his eyes, the one that meant he was watching and thinking. She went last so that no one could see her stumble. But her legs almost gave out on the last step. Haeth caught her arm. He spoke in a low voice between them. “Hey dead woman. You okay?” Joan jerked her arm away. The son of a bitch knew she was weak. “Still strong enough to cut your goddamn throat, Haeth.” Haeth laughed like it was a joke. # Joan managed to avoid him for ten days before he cornered her. She’d been sleeping on the ship and completely avoiding the rest of the group, but she’d come up to his library to steal a book. “Hey,” he said from behind her. “You. Woman." She whipped around, and there he was, elegantly sitting in the armchair. Like he’d whipped off an invisibility cloak. Fucker had probably been waiting for her. "Have you been avoiding me?" Haeth said, amused. "Whatever for? I thought we were pals now, sweetie." Joan grimaced. “What do you want?” “To talk, obviously. What else?” “About what?” “Mm. Lots of things." I don’t fucking feel like it anymore, she thought. She didn't have the energy to deal with the sheer amount of bullshit he produced. She needed to get a few things straight. She thought about saying, Look. If you stab me in the back, I’ll fucking rip you apart. Don’t fuck with me. That’s what she told everybody. She was so tired of—figuring shit out. She was so tired of juggling these balls and dropping half of them. “If you’re going to kill me later,” she said, then stopped. “If this is part of an elaborate plot to use me and fuck me over. Then fine. Fuck me over.” Haeth's expression slipped. “What happened?” “I’m done,” Ripley said. “I’m fucking done. I—” “What happened?” he said, again. Joan’s jaw clenched, and she looked away, still angry. I’ve got an ace up my sleeve this time, motherfucker. You can’t threaten anything I care about because I already burnt it to the ground myself. She had left Amari. And Goro… well, Goro could take care of himself. He watched her for a long time. Then he said, “Look. I’ll just tell you what I’m after, okay? Make it nice ‘n easy for you.” He grabbed a map from the table nearby and spread it out. He grabbed chess pieces off a nearby set and set them down on the map. A king over Calimport. A queen over Skyport. Then pawns over the smaller cities. A knight over Moorland. All the pieces on the Calimport side of the map were black obsidian stone. “Across the sea,” he said. “The Tyrant-King Rexarius is acquiring more and more territory. He has about forty percent of the desert, now, and the larger he gets, the faster he expands.” “And so?” Mishka shifted the king across the sea. “Once his empire is stable, he’ll move to Skyport, Joan. He’ll come here, and he’ll either burn this place or take it. He’s expressed an interest—ah, I mean, or… so I’ve heard.” Joan raised her eyebrows. “Look, woman, let a man keep his secrets,” he said. “I’ve got methods, alright.” Joan let out a breath. “Yeah. Alright.” “That’s all I want,” Mishka said, pointing at the map. “I want help with this problem. I want to stop the dragon. For, ah, personal, revenge-type reasons, I guess you could call them. Skyport is the largest city-state in this region. It hasn’t faced a genuine threat since… well, since ever. Not since the Calamity well over three centuries ago. The Warmaster, he’s a good man, but the city doesn’t even have a military. And Fred’s so fucking busy eating the city from the inside that he doesn’t even notice the threats outside it. With the help of your little guild—” “Guild’s gone.” “What?” “I’m done,” Joan said. “I’m not spending the next five years building this shit just to have it wrecked again. I’m done.” “You what,” Mishka said. “Good luck,” Joan said. “Not being sarcastic. I genuinely wish you luck. Sorry I can’t help you. Come get me the dragon comes. I’ve never killed a dragon before. Sounds neat.” “Joan, that isn’t funny. What am I supposed to—?” She left, and shut the door in his face. He didn’t come after her, after that. # She stared at the guild building. Everything had been looted, and the windows were smashed, the doors torn off. It’d take so much fucking work to repair it. Fuck all of this. She'd just... She'd leave, she decided. She'd grab her shit and run. Change her name. She was so fucking done. Most of the recruits she had were gone. Arrested, killed, or fled. At least Raef left her a note telling her he was leaving, which meant he was okay, just busy. Which was fine—he had work to do, she understood. Mormiir… who knew. Roddy—he’d be okay, he had the rest of the group to look after him. Sugar was an evil mastermind; she’d be fine. Hansel… yeah, Ripley wasn’t even fucking thinking about that. She barely knew the guy. It wasn’t like they talked. She had no goddamn right to feel hurt. Goro. She’d miss Goro. Larkin Basha. That one had interested her, but she dropped it and left it behind. Never even found an excuse to talk to her, which was a pity. Just admired the vicious little shit from a distance. She addressed a note to Goro. I love you. Good luck. Don’t tell Amari. She’ll just worry. Too late, she realized she had nowhere to put it. She’d already stormed out of Haeth's estate; she couldn’t go back. She pulled a knife out of her pocket and sank the blade into the desk. Pinning the note in place. Maybe he’d find it, maybe he wouldn’t. She didn’t even bother addressing it with his name; he’d know it was for him. She walked out of the city. Into the forest. And then just… kept walking, indefinitely, until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground, and she slept. # It took Haeth a total of nine hours to find her. She blinked awake. It was dawn, and he was standing over here. There was one finely-stitched, slightly-heeled gray leather boot in front of her face. The toes were tipped with metal--for kicking things, maybe, or just protecting his dainty fucking toes--and the metal had little designs etched into it. She groaned, dragging herself into sitting position. Haeth frowned at her. “What do you want, Haeth?” she grumbled. He hesitated, then knelt beside her. "Are you, ah. Are you okay?" "No. Fuck off." “What do you fucking mean, fuck off?” he said. “Joan, I need you. I have schemes. The whole goddamn reason I stayed to help your Runners—” “They’re not my fucking Runners anymore.” “—shut up, woman. The whole goddamn reason I stayed to help kill the Glutton was to get on your good side—” “—yeah, so I could help you with your fucking schemes, Haeth. I don't have a good side, so stop trying to get on it.” She rose to her feet, slowly, ready to fight him. He'd leave. He'd back off and leave as soon as he realized how useless she was. He didn't move an inch. “Stop fucking calling me Haeth,” he said. “It’s Mishka." "Mikhail--" "Are you deaf?" She clenched her hands, glaring at him. She turned her back stiffly. He was only upset because she'd lost her influence, her power, and he'd wanted it. “My guild is gone. I don’t have anything you want or need. Why are still trying to fucking manipulate me?” He was being nice because he wanted to fuck with her. She kept telling herself. Nobody ever just plain liked her. Nobody. It was a lie to get her guard down. Nobody voluntarily spent time with her except Amari and now Amari was gone and it was… it was all Joan’s fault, all of it. Angry tears stung her eyes. Fuck. God. She wasn’t going to cry in front of… Mikhail-fucking-Haeth. She bent her head. She hated him. She genuinely enjoyed his company, and he was really damn good at what he did, and he was good at manipulating his enemies, and he kept--he kept insisting on being on her side. Eventually, she was going to let her guard down, because she was weak and fucking lonely, and eventually, he'd stab her in the back, because of course he would. And it would be her own fault. His expression changed, slowly, watching her. “Joan. What happened?” He checked around like he was looking for potential enemies. Joan sank against the rock. “Don’t…” He stared at her a long time, then sat down across from her. “Look,” he said, carefully. “Let’s take this one itty-bitty step at a time, shall we? What exactly are you doing traipsing through Grimwood Forest? Saw something interesting out here, did you? Decided to go camping, sans tent?” Fuck. Joan put her head in her hands. “Fuck off,” she choked out. “Jackass. You’re just—trying to get something out of me—” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joan. Look, yes, I am trying to get things out of you, and yes, I'm absolutely trying to manipulate you into working with me, but also I like you. Alright? Why the fuck d'you think I’m out here? What, you think I enjoy wading through the mud to pick strange women out of ditches?” He wrinkled his nose and picked a spider off his leg. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Joan choked out. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I built the guild, and now it’s gone, and—fuck, Mishka.” She was so tired, and she never thought she’d have to deal with this. “I don’t know! I don’t know if I’m going to fucking restart the guild or not! I told Hansel yes and I told Roddy no. I’m just—I’m so—” She bent over. “I’m so—fucking tired, and—” She’d worked so hard for so long. It felt like she’d been carrying this weight herself for so long, and nobody was giving her any fucking wins. Mishka had that look in his eyes, the dangerous one. The thinking one. “Okay,” Mishka finally said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” “Don’t tell me what to fucking—” “Shut up. You’re going to come back to my estate, and you’re going to sit on my couch. I’m going to make you a drink—maybe a hot apple cider with whiskey and lemon, you seem like that kind of gal. You’re going to get drunk. I’m going to drag Goro over and make him admit he likes you. You like Goro, right? And Hansel. You can talk about the terrible children you’ve adopted and compare notes on how to skewer things. I’ll make vague jokes about killing you and I’ll bribe Turtle Kid into playing music for you. Maybe I’ll invite Raef over with his new husband, or whatever the fuck that’s about, and he can sit broodingly in the corner. Larkin Basha—” A flicker of a pause. “Well honestly, okay, maybe Larkin will just continue lurking about for her uncle. Or maybe she get drunk with Goro.” Joan squinted at him suspiciously. This sounded like... comfort shit. Why was he directing it at her, though? “And then,” Mishka said. “There’s a spare room in my estate. Stay there. I’ve got fucking schemes to talk to you about, alright? You’d like it there. If you can't handle restarting the guild, then don't. Do your own thing for a bit. Take a damn vacation. What do you do on vacation, slay things? Go slay things. If you do eventually restart your guild, hire a fucking bookkeeper. I’ve got the capital. We’ll figure it out.” “We,” Joan said. “Yes, we. You and me. I’m your business partner.” Joan bent over. “My business partner?” She started to laugh. Once she started, it became hysterical. She gasped for air. Mishka tapped his foot impatiently. She wiped her eyes. “Yeah, okay,” she said. She wiped her eyes. “Why, though. Why—why me?” “Because,” Mishka said, crouching in front of her. “When I was stuck in that awful fucking place, I was losing my mind, and you hated me, and you helped me anyway. You stayed with me as long as you could and taught me ways to keep myself sane. You tried to teach me how to meditate, for fuck’s sake. Joan. Come home. Come back to Skyport. Nobody’s noticed you’re missing yet, I don’t think. Everything is going to be okay. Alright?" “Fucking sentimental elf,” she said. Mishka snorted. “Fucking fine,” she said. “I give in. Business partners. You are relentless.” “Oh, you misunderstood. We already have been partners for a while,” Mishka said. “Your knowledge or consent about this little partnership was never required, Joan. But thank you for acknowledging it.” He offered her a hand up, and she took it and heaved herself up. He staggered a bit. Then, to her shock, hugged her briefly. Then he stiffly let go, making a face like he'd only done it to comfort her. Joan’s voice was rough. “If this is how you get people on your side before you stab them in the back… you’re fucking good at it, Hae… Mishka.” Mishka looked flattered. “Well, I already told Goro this, but I will attempt not to stab you in the back.” “Yeah, fine. I’ll attempt not to punch you.” Mishka stared at her. “You can just decide not to punch me, Joan.” “Yeah well you could just fuckin’ not stab me in the back—” “You obviously don’t understand how conspiracies work.” “Your conspiracies? I sure fuckin’ don’t.” He laughed. He drew a knife from his knife, then cut his palm with it in a flash. “Look. Pirate oath. I’ll make you a promise. I, Mikhail Haeth, swear I will faithfully uphold you as my partner. No manipulation. You handle the fighting. I’ll handle the planning. We’ll fuck up your baddie, and we’ll fuck up mine. My life for yours. My revenge for yours. My family’s safety for yours.” He held out his hand. She didn’t move, hesitating. He waggled his fingers at her. Blood dripped off his hand onto the grass. “C’mon, dead woman. Let’s fucking run this city.” She took the knife, cut open her palm, and grabbed his hand. "Partners," she said. "Partners," Mishka said. Category:Vignettes